


there's too much love

by Anonymous



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Just Married, happy valentines day, just some domestic smut, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "How marvelous it is to have so many ways to say ‘I love you.’"
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 19
Kudos: 125
Collections: Anonymous





	there's too much love

**Author's Note:**

> lol😳

Anne has learned so many of the quiet attentions that point to love over the years. All kinds of love— familial, platonic, romantic. 

Matthew would let his large, weathered hand rest on her shoulder when he was particularly proud of her; Marilla would fret and buzz around her over the tiniest scrapes; Diana would rest her head against hers and pull her closer, her giggles echoing loudly in her ears. It took many years between the time she was a skinny, bony little thing, to the blossomed young woman she is now, to learn that love isn’t always grand gestures and large displays, but the small moments. Small moments that proved just how she belonged deep in the fabric of this life she’s sown for herself. 

Learning the mechanisms of Gilbert’s love for her has been the greatest puzzle of them all to solve. The twinkle in his eye that shines when she details the adventure she’s about to coerce him into. The way he always seeks her hand during the most mundane activities; when they read, when they do chores, when they walk side by side. The pull of his arms against her waist when they kiss, as if he cannot pull her close enough no matter how hard he tries. 

Marriage had not quelled the romanticism as the old women of Avonlea, such as Rachel Lynde, had suggested. Even now, a week into their honeymoon, she’s finding new pieces of the ever-growing puzzle to capture. Gilbert would settle next to her every night by the hearth as he read, his warmth more satisfying than the blazing fire in front of her, and whisper jokes in her ear as if they weren’t the only two in the house. He would brush her hair for her at night, when she pulled it out of it’s elaborate styles, and he helped her wash the dishes after dinner without being asked. 

This is the way it was meant to be between them. She knew that now— known this since he kissed her firmly on the lawn of Blackmore House. They’ve always been a good team, Anne and Gilbert, but living, growing, learning together— this is made for them. 

The more passionate signs of love— love of a more… intimate nature— were the hardest for her to piece together. She tried to imagine these things through her little knowledge of the sorts of trysts a married couple could partake in. 

Of course, she had whispered with Diana all these things a woman could expect after her bosom friend was married to Fred, but it was very… well, it was very much a ‘Diana’ conversation; simply going through the facts, presenting it just at it occurred like a bullet point list of events.

Phil had sent scandalous missives about the passions she shared with Jo, letters that Anne burnt after reading so Marilla would never find the source of her flaming cheeks and shallow breaths. But every time she closed her eyes and pictured all of the things that were so forbidden to her, she couldn’t quite see it with _him._ Her own imagination could never have created the way his hands would wander to her hips in the morning, or the stormy clouds in his eyes that would form when she let her lips linger across his jaw, or down the column of his neck, and all of the things she would come to know just four days into their month long honeymoon in their House of Dreams.

It started in the most wondrous and mystical ways, little changes in his tone, or just a slight shift in body language. That first night, with her billowing white dress still clinging to her skin, and this new, unbound feeling she had after staring at their two large trunks placed at the foot of their bed, side by side. Gilbert had closed the bedroom door so lightly behind them, staring across the room at her, before slowly pushing his suspenders down his arms. It had been bumbling, quick, full of nervous laughter and quiet admissions atop of the same bed sheets she had sown herself. It was poetic really, the way they moved uninterrupted, completely, fully in the same sheets that she had worked tirelessly on, pressing her lips on the delicate fabric in hope that he would feel the love she held for him in every single thread. She knew he felt that love when they were connected mind, body, and soul, and his hands gripped the fabric beneath them. 

They had a whole new town to explore; a garden with a sprightly spring; deep and dark woods with magical clearings full of her favorite lilies; the ocean that spread out as wide as the world itself in front of them, but the only thing she wanted to explore was him. Never before has she had the time to map out his body unchaperoned. Even in feverish nights during their courtship and engagement where they were miraculously able to slip away from the watchful eyes of Avonlea, there was always this invisible line they would not cross, and now they were blessed to step over that line, she could not help herself but go to him over, and over again. 

Not that he would complain. He had been the one to beckon her to him with his warm, seeking eyes while she cooked that first dinner, leaving it to burn on the stove. It was him who told her he loved her, wanted her, needed her repeatedly with his hands on her skin, with his mouth just below her ear, and his body straining against hers. 

So, who could blame the young couple in love, who were finally alone, for sneaking lustful glances out of the corners of their eyes as they read on their porch on a warm September afternoon, with the smell of the salty sea drifting through the wind. 

“You’re distracting me,” she says, strewn about the top step and back leaning against the wooden baluster. He mirrors her on the opposite end, his bare feet grazing her side every once and a while. 

“Oh, am I?” He laughs, brow tilted upwards wickedly. “Perhaps you’re not concentrating hard enough, Mrs. Blythe.” 

The use of the name sends a thrill through her spine that she never thinks will subside. 

She closes her book roughly, setting it on the step below her to be forgotten, moving closer to her husband, settling against his side. 

“I don’t suppose you wish I was concentrating harder on my book?” She asks with a coquettish bat of her lashes. 

Gilbert shakes his head softly then, eyes never leaving hers, “no, I don’t suppose I do.” 

Anne leans closer, lifting herself to sit on his lap and brace her hands on his shoulders. He’s quick to cup her face in his palms, pulling her closer to slot their lips together in one smooth motion. 

Years of practice have lead them to this, how they move in perfect time with one another, his tongue sweeping against her bottom lip until she opens her mouth for him with an errant sigh. It’s the warmth that courses through her veins and sits in her stomach that is so addicting, she decides. It’s a feeling that she finds herself desperate to replicate every day, every hour, every minute, and she knows he feels it to by the way he grips her hips tighter and kisses her harder. The feeling proves to be dangerous because her world is spinning once he lets his lips travel down her neck, sucking harshly on her skin until her breaths came out in little pants, tugging on his curls absentmindedly. 

He releases her with groan, staring up at her with those cloudy eyes, uttering out a short, “we should go inside before anyone sees us.” 

How scandalous would it be indeed, if someone saw them on the porch, and yet something about it excites her deep inside. Before she can even fantasize about such a thing, he lifts her up in his strong arms, holding her tightly against his chest. When they crossed the threshold of the House of Dreams for the first time, he had picked her up just as a bride should be held, and carried her slowly through the door. But now, he laughs as he carries her more like a sack of flour, slung on his shoulder and down his back as she grips his shirt and kicks her knees in delight. Their giggles echo through the halls, through every room as he takes her up the stairs, and she wonders if one day their children will be the ones filling the house with mischievous laughter. For now though, the only ones to cause mischief are the two of them, and it seems so fitting that they would still behave in such a way even after marriage. 

She and Gilbert could never truly grow old, she thinks. 

Gilbert sets her down only when they reach the bed, somewhat out of breath and face flushed, she lies down and pulls him on top of her. When they’re like this, he makes her feel small, yet large in all the right ways. She wants to laugh at all the times she thought he didn’t only have eyes for her, because how could he not when he’s looking at her here and now, like she’s holding his heart in her very hands. She may be small, tucked into his tall frame and fit between his arms, but she’s large too— the center of his universe, just as he is the center of hers. 

“Anne…” he starts, swallowing thickly before brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face, “you don’t even know just how much I love you.” 

And oh, she knows, _she knows, she knows,_ but she pulls his hand and holds it against her cheek, feeling the warmth of him that practically scorches her. 

“Then show me,” she whispers, staring up at those pools of hazel until he dives down to capture her lips once more. 

Everything they have learned about each other the past week comes back to them; their now proficient fingers make quick work of his buttons, her corset, and all the layers that were stuck in between them until they were nothing but bare skin and roaming hands. 

How she loved the way the gears in his mind, which were always turning, would finally cease and he would do what instinct told him, what _she_ told him to do. The first few times were awkward, new, more about expressing this new type of love and learning every quirk about each other, and they always were quick learners, but now, it was about pure passion, desire, burning for each other in the way they always felt but never knew how to enact. 

His seeking lips begin to trace the swell of her breasts, placing sweet, open-mouthed kisses on her milky skin, taking one rosy peak in his mouth and letting it roll on his tongue. She holds him close to her chest with her hands buried in his hair, as his fingers lightly trail down her stomach, to her waist until they land in a bruising grasp around her thigh. When he finally pulls away, leaving the wet skin to cool in the fall air, his mouth is red from his ministrations, a light smirk playing at the edges of his lips. 

How that smirk angered her during their school days; a sign of their flaming rivalry at every higher geometry score, at every perfect poetry reading, any right answer he could lord over her head. But in their most feverish moments now, that smirk sent a jolt of something strong and undefined through every nerve ending in her body. 

Gilbert’s thumb rubs mind-numbing circles into the skin of her inner thigh, not quite where she wants him, but still it makes an embarrassing moan tumble from her lips. He only gets more emboldened by this, pulling her closer and lifting her legs over his shoulders until he settles in-between her soft thighs. He peeks up with hooded eyes and thick lashes at her face, and he releases a breathy laugh which she can feel against her warm, already slick skin where she wants him desperately. 

“ _She looked at me as she did love,”_ he recites, and she immediately knows the poem, a Keats one that he has quoted to her millions of times since they started courting, but has never had the courage to finish until now, “ _and made sweet moan.”_

Anne wants to roll her eyes and chastise him for his flirtations, maybe even quote a line or two of satire back, but then his mouth was on her, a light kiss that turned into tongue sliding, licking, even biting, a low groan from his mouth sending vibrations through her entire being. She anchors herself to the sheets with white knuckles. He was so methodical, so precise with her, and yet with a natural timing that beats along with her fervid heart. She wonders just how much he thought of doing this throughout their long, long engagement because she can feel how excited he is when he plants a brief kiss on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, laughing at her indigent scoff when he stops. 

As if he read her mind he speaks up, mouth still on her, “I thought about this, I thought of you, for longer than I’d like to admit,” and the way he admits this to her lowly, reverently, on his knees in front of her is like a sinner at confession. It makes her weak, so she lays her head back on the pillow and squeezes her thighs tight around his head, urging him to keep going. And he does, adding two calloused fingers as his tongue works against that little bundle of nerves that gets her toes curling. In just a couple of days, Gilbert, with his dexterous doctor’s hands, has learned all the right buttons to push and just the places to stroke as to pull those delicious sounds from her. 

“ _Oh,”_ she rasps at the admission, nodding her head with a thick swallow, “good to know I wasn’t the only one.” 

He looks up at her with a flash of something dangerous, before continuing to lave her sweet, pink skin. 

Not that he’d ever leave— not when he has her like this— but she pulls on his hair so tight as to keep him working against her until she’s wreathing on the sheets, heat doubling, gasping for air, and after one slow, pressured lick, her legs begin to quiver and she finishes on his tongue. 

Anne’s cheeks only flush to the slightest degree when he lifts his head up, brushing the remnants of her climax off of his lips with the side of his hand, shrugging her legs off of his back before grabbing her face with a strong, bruising kiss. She can taste herself on his tongue and instead of embarrassment, she wraps her arms around his neck and greedily takes him in, seeking the taste more and more. 

He pulls away only an inch, nose brushing against hers and eyes baring, a myriad of emotions swimming in the awed expression that’s plastered on his face. “Will you tell me if there’s more you want? I- I admittedly feel like I’m lost in uncharted waters sometimes, but I want you to feel good— more than good, really, fantastic actually.” 

And she does feel good— more than good, definitely fantastic, when she’s with him, like everything they’ve ever been has culminated into this large, unexplainable and unbelievable thing. She runs her fingers along his sweaty brow, and whispers, “ _I see a lily on thy brow, with anguish moist and fever-dew.”_

His smile is bright, but subdued still with nerves that she wants to smooth over until his confident smirk appears once again. He had told her that first night, when everything was still brand new, that he would never stop trying to make her happy and prove that she was all he’d ever wanted, but she needs him to know that _he_ is all _she_ has ever wanted and not a day will go by where that is not true. 

“But you’ll tell me what you want?” 

“Gilbert,” she sighs, falling backwards on the bed, wrapping her legs around his hips to bring him in closer and closer. “I _want_ you, forever and always.” 

And just as he took her apart with his hands and mouth, he looks to her as if her words had rebuilt him up again, just so he can fall into pieces once more with her. 

When he finally sinks into her heat, it’s so easy, she’s already so ready for him from his previous attention. He groans with a sort of relief that she feels too, echoing throughout her body with every stroke of his hips into her. He lets his head rest against her shoulder, warm breath condensing onto her skin, placing scattered kisses on each and every freckle splattered there in rhythm with their bodies. 

But he’s holding back, she knows it by his soft groans and the way he grips the sheets so hard, but she wants him to grip _her_ instead, so she pulls on his shoulder, pressing her nails into his skin until she’s sure little half moon imprints are left there. 

“You said I could tell you what I wanted?” She says, and his movements come to a halt.

“Of course, always,” he replies, and the crack of his voice shows how much it’s taking to stop inside of her like this. 

_“Faster,_ ” and its only above a soft whisper, and she thinks he might not hear her properly because he stays stiff against her, until his hands wrap beneath her and he backs out of her, before pushing back in strong, deep thrusts. The pace is new, one they haven’t tried before, and the stretch of him burns but she loves it, loves him. 

Her heart races at the change in him, he’s usually so composed, so logical with every single move but now his brows knit in concentration and she can feel him losing himself in her. He becomes erratic and she _loves it_. The skin-on-skin contact, and the little breathy moans that he coaxes out of her are the only sounds that fill the room, and it sounds like heaven. 

All the sensual poetry in the world couldn’t have prepared her for the whispers he spills into her ear, all of the things he loved about her, all of the things he hoped for them, and all the nights he spent thinking of this.

Anne had asked him to show her just how much he loved her and he did exactly that in a way she never knew love could be shown. She was close, and she knew he was too by his trembling, so she pulls his head to face hers, bringing him down to crash against her lips. He’s relentless in those last seconds, a stamina she didn’t know he possessed, taking her to the edge and riding out her release with his own. 

“ _Anne, Anne, Anne,”_ he utters slowly, repeatedly, until he finally slows down, taking her cheeks into his hands to plant soft, firm kisses on each cheek and then her lips. 

His eyes are expectant, but there’s a warm tinge as he waits for any sort of sound from her. She licks her lips, making him wait just to see him squirm. 

“That was good— more than good.” 

“Fantastic?” He asks, that award winning smirk back with a tilt of his brow, propping himself on his elbows. 

“Maybe so,” she giggles, pushing him off of her so she can run across the floor to the water basin, splashing water on her face and delighting in the way his eyes roam over her naked form. Her own eyes take in the view out of their bay window, an orange sunset seeping through and painting everything in its wake enticingly. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” she says, and it’s not a question, she’s quite sure about it. 

Gilbert barks out a laugh, sitting up in the bed, “well, I’m sure we can’t go out like this.” 

Anne’s eyes roll involuntarily, “of course not you ninny, though wouldn’t that be so romantic? Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.” 

He pushes himself off the bed, pulling his trousers back up and buttoning up his shirt haphazardly, struggling until she takes large strides towards him, fixing up the buttons herself with a small, knowing smile. How lovely it is, to be with him like this, and she hopes that he’ll let her help him dress before his first day of rounds as a real, true doctor. 

His hand grabs hers, “was Adam and Eve a very romantic story?” He questions lightly. 

She shakes her head, pulling him along the hall and down the stairs, “I do not think the story itself is romantic but could you imagine being all alone in the world together? Just you and I?” 

When they reach the bottom of the steps he turns her around to look at him, placing a quick kiss on her lips and then her nose, “I always feel like it’s just you and me in the world.” 

How marvelous it is to have so many ways to say ‘I love you.’ 

**Author's Note:**

> does anyone know who i am?


End file.
